Aura Catchers

Chapter 2 - Jeptol

The Underworld was never a place for cowards.

      Down here beneath the crypts of Beggar’s Den, the worst of the scum roam, with crime running rampant in the streets and thieves freely selling their wares.

      It used to be a bustling city full of upper class rich folk, a traveler attraction and hangout that started off as a factory hotspot.

      Now, it’s known as the home of crooks and vagrants, so dangerous and perilous that not even guards dare to step foot inside. Some say the most destructive gang members bribed them into keeping their distance. If so, they’ve kept to their deal.

      Never once would I have imagined myself in a place like this.

      But then again, I’d never imagine being forced into hiding and secrecy to begin with.

      And as I glide over the damp cobblestone road, walking at a brisk pace towards the place I never imagined I would enter, I can feel my heart start to race in my chest with every step I take.

      Underneath the hood of my cloak, my eyes glance up to the faded sign hanging over the old crumbling warehouse, its painted words hardly visible in the duskiness of the cave.

      Erthur’s Wares & Co.

      Exactly where I need to be.

      Lowering my head, I swiftly maneuver past a crowd of rowdy drunks, making my way across the street and into the warehouse.

      When I reach the door, I step through the threshold with a shove, tensing in preparation for what I might face.

      As soon as I enter, the strong odor hits me like a massive blow, and I feel my stomach twist as the bile rises in my throat.

      For the love of Jalos, what is that smell?

      Death is the closest thing I can compare it to.

      Tugging my scarf higher up my mouth as to cover my nose, I quickly recover, struggling to hold my composure.

      I can’t risk standing out here, especially with how little time I have. If I’m to get caught, I might as well kill the two of us myself, because that fate would be worse than death itself.

      Stepping from the doorway so that I’m shielded by the crowd, I finally look up, scanning the room for any signs of him.

      The place is full of raucous assholes, placing bids on men, women, and children trapped in large showcases that cover the blood-stained concrete floor. Rust coats the tin walls, and the grey paint below our feet seems to be chipping away, stained from years of rotting down here with the scoundrels.

      In the back, more trucks load in cages full of slaves through the tall warehouse doors. I can almost feel myself moved by the terror and anguish on their faces. This is the reality of the underground slave trade I’ve heard so much about.

      It’s hard to tell anyone apart in the dimness of the room, so I step further inside, the stuffiness and aroma threatening to swallow me whole.

      My eyes wander to the upper office of the warehouse, where I can see grubby men making their ways up and down the stairs. The windows are boarded up, but rays of light manage to shine through the cracks anyway, revealing glimpses of slaves chained up to the walls.

      A bouncer guards the door at the top step, collecting entry fees from the patrons. There are only two types of places I know of that would do that: exhibitions, and brothels.

      They must be keeping the slaves of higher value in that room, no doubt.

      I have to get in there.

      Without wasting any time, I turn and begin heading to the stairs, clenching my fists so tightly that my gritty nails dig in to my leather gloves.

      I don’t even want to think about what conditions he’s been kept in. All I want to do is set him free and then get the hell out of this place.

      “Watch it!” a deep voice growls, and before I can move out of the way, I run face-first into a large, burly rustler.

      Shit.

      I speedily stumble back, turning to rush away before he can catch me, but he grips onto my shoulder and tugs me towards him.

      “You should really watch where you’re going,” he spits, spinning me around so that I’m facing him. “I could break you like a twig.”

      His dingy face holds a menacing sneer, revealing his chipped and decaying teeth. The smell of beer lingers on his reeking breath.

      Beside him, two other men look on with daring grins, their faces gaunt and narrow, grimy just like their friend’s.

      “That’s not a good idea,” I advise him testily. “You really don’t want to mess with me.”

      “Is that a threat?” Burly’s scrubby friend cuts in, tugging on the taller man’s shoulder. “He just tried to threaten you, Rudor!”

      “No, but you guys better back off before it becomes one.”

      The leaner one steps forward, hushing Rudor and his short goon with a wave of his hand.

      “You picked the wrong place to run away to, kid,” he grits, clasping on to my cloak and then yanking it off.

      The fabric cascades to the ground in a heap of wool, and the men let out sinister laughs, Rudor smirking like he’s accomplished something. Harassing me is probably the only thing he’s done right in his life.

      “What’s this?” Scrubby asks, glimpsing at the vested leather armor that covers my body from head to toe, worn underneath my long overcoat. “Looks like he came ready for a fight, Rudor. Let’s give him one!”

      Rudor laughs, “What sort of man would I be if I didn’t show the kid his place?”

      I watch warily as he reaches for the dagger in his belt, but before he can pull it out, I snatch off my left glove and cast my red aura catcher at him.

      My hand burns with a sizzling crimson fire as his life force is sucked away, a swirling red mist leaving his body and traveling to the symbol on my palm. As the others begin to step away with fear, I swiftly snatch off my right glove as well, blasting them with my blue aura catcher to weaken their strength.

      “Shit!” Lean exclaims, as Scrubby collapses unconsciously beside him. What a joke.

      They both instantly freeze, and Rudor glances at his fallen friend with widened eyes, shouting, “Fuck! You killed him!”

      What can I say? I tried to warn them.

      The entire warehouse hushes as if on edge, and when I look around, everyone is frozen in fear, all eyes on me.

      Great. I’ve attracted an audience. Just the thing I was trying to avoid.

      And to think, after months of searching, I was so close to reaching my goal. Now thanks to these bastards, my only chance at finding him may have just been diminished into nothing.

      “Oh fuck!” Lean shouts, stumbling away from me with his hands up. How pathetic. “He’s an aura catcher!”

      Rudor sends him a scowl. “Not just any aura catcher, you dimwit! He’s a malevolent!”

      The silence grows deafening as my gaze turns to the people around me, and my heart begins to race when the realization hits me.

      I just made a huge mistake.

      Dread rising, my eyes shoot around the room for any escape, but catch on some movement in the crowd. A group of mercenaries begins this way, and I quickly send out a blast in their direction, sending everyone into a panicked flurry.

      In the commotion, I make for the first exit I see: a window by the steps that lead to the exclusive lounge upstairs.

      Maybe, somehow, I can enter the room and grab him before I leave, if I’m fast enough.

      But even I know that those efforts would be futile.

      Using the other men as a buffer to hide me, I race in that direction, my long leather boots sweeping over the floor. I grip onto the shoulder of one of the poachers and shove him down, causing a blockage of people that trip over him as they run every which way.

      At this point, I’m certain they have no idea who they’re running from anymore.

      When I reach the stairs, prepared to sprint up them by twos, a hand suddenly shoots out and grabs me with extreme force, tugging me aside.

      I let out a shout as the mercenary looks down at me with a grimace, a silky black mask covering his eyes. His grip is so tight I could mistake him for a sentry.

      I reach up to cast my red aura catcher, but he abruptly tugs out a spike device, stabbing the rods into my side and jamming down on the button.

      In an instant, I’m rendered useless, incapable of using any of my powers.

      A pained cry leaves me, and I collapse, my knees buckling and my vision blaring white as the pain pulsates throughout my body. The symbols on my palms crackle, blistering and burning my skin, before fading so that they no longer glow.

      Here it is, one of my biggest weaknesses: having my catchers disabled.

      I should have never pulled the gloves off.

      The mercenary clutches my forearm tighter, hauling me up onto my feet. “You unholy monsters are supposed to be extinct by now,” he snarls with disgust. “How dare you show your face in public despite the king’s orders?”

      Struggling to gather enough strength to even stand, I look him firmly in the eyes, unable to back down this easily. I’m too close to simply give in, especially when he needs me.

      “Let… go… of… me….” I splutter, coming out more like a strangled wheeze.

      The man shakes his head, his hand clasping tauter and forcing out another yelp. “You think you’re better than the Enchantress?” he mutters angrily. “The Auspice herself? You can never outrun the Coalition, no matter what you disguise as.”

      Upon hearing his words, my eyes widen in recognition, and everything clicks together as I finally distinguish who this voice belongs to.

      “Emin!?” I gasp, but rather than greeting me with a happy reunion, he throws a hardy punch at the side of my face instead.

       As I swipe at the blood that drools from my mouth, his voice hovers above me, seething with resentment. “You had your chance to either submit to us or turn yourself in to the Coalition as a prisoner if you didn’t want us to find and kill you,” he reminds me. “And now, you’re mine.”

      His fist rises again, but before I can stop him, it plows into my jaw with such force it feels like my skull is cracked open, and everything fades into black.